


and we shall stand in the sun

by exolliarmus, jingi



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, mentions of psychological torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12091845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exolliarmus/pseuds/exolliarmus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jingi/pseuds/jingi
Summary: Kim Jongin is the only suspect in a criminal case with few clues. It's up to first-year Auror Kim Jongdae to find out who's really guilty. Alternatively: Baekhyun is unnecessarily excited about this prospect.





	and we shall stand in the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Title: and we shall stand in the sun  
> Pairing: Chen/Kai  
> Summary: Kim Jongin is the only suspect in a criminal case with few clues. It's up to first-year Auror Kim Jongdae to find out who's really guilty. Alternatively: Baekhyun is unnecessarily excited about this prospect.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Word Count: ~13k  
> Warning: mentions of psychological torture  
> Author's Note: it's been a long time since i've written anything of this length or style but i enjoyed thinking about this lil universe despite my struggles and mistakes along the way! to the prompter, i hope the way i wrote this idea out is to your liking! and finally thank you so much to the mods for being so patient with me and i'm sorry for the inconveniences i caused T__T

A few footsteps, heavier than they need to be, and a few knocks on the door. The dim 3 AM streetlights don’t do much to illuminate her room, but she can see a dark shadow flicker somewhere in her room just before the ringing in her ears starts. No matter quickly and deeply she tries to breathe it’s not enough. It’s far too clear to be her memory: the image of them welcoming her with smiles and clapping, a switch to them stroking her face, telling her she’ll never be enough, accompanied by the sensation of burning in her stomach and thighs and her hair growing until its weight drags her to the ground. It’s not real, it’s not real, but something has to be behind the wrenching pain in her chest. Hurts to cry, but it hurts more to stay silent. She can’t hear the echo of a husky laugh over her screams, but four rapid gunshots ring out in succession. There are no bullets, because wizards don’t have guns. Only a puff of smoke remains. 

The sun rises. It was a nightmare, she repeats to herself. A friend firecalls, but she can’t answer because the screaming starts again. The healers realize that this isn’t a natural occurrence, and St. Mungo’s has to call the Aurors. 

 

*

 

Dark Magic, Jongdae learns, is tampering with the natural order of things with harmful intentions. Aurors, Jongdae learns, are those who protect everyone from Dark wizards. Yet after months of being an Auror, he has had relatively little direct contact with genuine Dark magic. One hectic chase after a serial murderer in Jongdae’s first two weeks on the job and another week in hospital later, it seemed like the upper division tried to keep him out of the way of harm. He’s mostly worked on investigation since, interviews and such. There was that one time afterwards where he was actually sent to the scene to assist in the capture of a gang of Dark wizards, but they ended up taking an escape route in the opposite direction and more senior Aurors finished the job while Jongdae helplessly stood far away from the action waiting for orders. Recently, he’s barely had time to get excited. Most days are like today.

“Hey, Jongdae, there’s been a call about some potential activity around the outskirts of Knockturn. You should get on that.” A slim file flutters its way to his desk, adding itself to the ever-growing stack of paperwork.

Jongdae sighs. “Yes, Auror Choi.” He stands up and slings his outer cloak back on. He won’t even bother with the official Auror robes this time; they could get stained with contraband mystery venom or something like before, and Jongdae doesn’t want to bother with the cleaning again. Besides, he doesn’t feel like much of an Auror when many of his jobs are false alarms. 

“Work hard,” Auror Choi supplies with a friendly grin and a thumbs up. As Jongdae’s direct supervisor, he knows that Jongdae isn’t having the most interesting work days, but he says it’s better than working overtime for months straight. At least he’s generous with encouragement and drinks after hours, and he doesn’t make Jongdae work overtime much because there’s only so much paperwork he can write about angry drunks performing weak Imperiuses. 

 

*

 

Four victims have been found so far. The initial symptoms seemed to resemble those of a severe attack of anxiety, but that didn’t quite explain the unusually prolonged durations of screaming and certainly not the ineffectiveness of calming draughts the Healers administered. Four victims in two weeks, all the same age, all Slytherin when they were at Hogwarts. In other words, not merely a coincidence.

The problem: even after some improvement in condition, the victims aren’t giving any clear answers. They fixate on the visions they keep seeing, unsure if they’re actual memories or just too close to reality for comfort. One girl mentions the Muggle movie James Bond, and only after more careful prodding does anyone realize she means gunshots. Another says, “there’s no smoke now, so no one was really here, or they haven’t left yet.” 

A quick Searching charm, and someone finds the file on Kim Jongin, the man whose Apparitions always leave a puff of smoke.

 

* 

 

There’s already a thin stack of papers on Jongdae’s desk when he arrives for work. Case reviews he’s supposed to look over, a copy of the Daily Prophet, and a new scheduling notice. Solitary confinement cell, overnight guard, Jongdae reads.

Minho comes back with a new cup of coffee after a few minutes, although it seems like he doesn’t even need it. “Morning, Jongdae! Did you hear yet?”

“Good morning, Auror Choi.” Jongdae holds the schedule memo closer to his face, rereading it again. “Is it about this? I was going to ask why I’m assigned to guard a cell.”

“Yeah, about that,” Minho replies, sipping on his coffee. “There’s a new case that the whole department is worried about, and they’re taking extra precautions with security because of the nature of the case. Take heart in that your defensive skills are valued slightly more than the usual guards’.”

“I’ll be informed of the details if I’m guarding, right? How high is the security clearance?”

“Pretty high, apparently. Since there aren’t any high-profile suspects, it must be some sort of attack that they don’t want too many to hear about.” Minho looks rather pensive, but the slurping sound of him finishing his coffee ruins the image. Jongdae doesn’t understand how he always drinks it so quickly. “The meeting about it will start in a few. We should head out soon.”

Jongdae waits for Minho to exit the room before following, stuck in the conflict of waiting for the senior member to leave first and needing to be in the meeting room first as a lower-ranking member should.

 

*

 

Everyone stands up in unison when Head Auror Lee walks into the meeting room. He nods without a word, and they all sit. Deputy Auror Zhang, sitting to his right, stands to start the report. Getting right to it, as usual. 

“Recently there have been some psychological attacks. Four victims, within the span of two weeks--” Deputy Auror Zhang flicks her wand and the victims’ profiles appear in front of each seat, “--and initial investigations have showed that they were in the same year in Slytherin, but no other connections have been found yet. The victims are still not quite well enough to give accurate witness accounts, but they seem to have had similar experiences: they relive memories of their past successes or other happy experiences, but then they experience visions of reversals and other images of trauma that do not seem to have actually occurred in their lives. This is accompanied by unnaturally prolonged screaming and sobbing attacks.” Head Auror Lee pauses, though without a visible shift in emotion. “These symptoms and the temporal proximity of the incidents indicate this is a planned psychological attack using Dark magic. The attacker has left no magical trace, and the lack of other physical symptoms makes the possibility of potions or other agents as vessels of the attack quite unlikely. However, we do have a suspect.” 

Deputy Auror Zhang neatly sends out another file. Jongdae looks at the small picture clipped to the top. It almost looks like a Muggle one since the subject is barely moving. A slow blink of sleepy, handsome eyes. Too handsome for the eyes of a criminal. Maybe that's why he's in a case like this: danger. 

The blinking eyes in the photograph stare back at Jongdae. Kim Jongin, the file reads. Kim Jongin, Kim Jongin, Kim Jongin. 1994, one year below him and in Slytherin, a little less striking with baby fat remaining at fourteen years old before he suddenly transferred out of Hogwarts after four years. There were rumors at the beginning of that year, and then everyone had moved on to new gossip. Considering they'd never spoken to each other, Jongdae didn't know much about Kim Jongin, but even now after ten years there's a faint memory of girls from all houses silently (or not) whispering about ‘that gorgeous Slytherin boy.’

"Is he the only suspect?" Auror Cha asks.

“For now. The biggest clue pointing to him is the smoke. For an unexplained reason, whenever Kim Jongin Apparates, he always leave a puff of smoke behind as a trail, and we’ve always had a special note in his file because of this. It’s likely similar to the smoke effect that several of the victims described. There’s also his… unconventional educational background, but that too needs to be investigated in more detail. In his time at Hogwarts, he was in Slytherin, in the same year as the victims.”

Jongdae looks at more of the file. Education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 2005-2009; Durmstrang Institute, 2009-2012. Unconventional is one way to word it. Years after the war, and there’s still more prejudice against Durmstrang than is merited. Against Slytherin, even. Not everything is as righteous as everyone would like to pretend, even in this department.

Unlike paperwork, meetings are kept short. “Chop chop,” Head Auror Lee says, and everyone rises back to their feet.

 

*

 

Coffee breaks are not to be wasted. Or so Baekhyun insists. It’s become a ritual: coffee breaks are when they momentarily escape from cubicle hell, Baekhyun downs another cup without any milk or sugar and chatters away, and Jongdae silently apologizes to anyone else who comes in to refill their coffee and leaves as soon as possible. 

“You know there’s actually quite a demand for magical squid tentacles? Not just squid ink. The tentacles themselves have medicinal properties, absolutely splendid for potions involving regrowth or accelerated growth. And something else,” Baekhyun slurps his coffee, probably intentionally. “They’re popping up in sex shops. Even after separation with the squid body, the tentacles will keep moving, and with the right charms, apparently the sensation is fabulous. But _mishandling_ ,” cue unnecessary eyebrow wiggle, “of the tentacles can lead to all sorts of bodily harm.” 

“I absolutely did not need to know that, but thanks.” Jongdae doesn’t want to think about how much personal research Baekhyun has been putting into this case.

“And Muggles have their own squids, but they only eat them! Do you think their squids are just terribly boring or are the Muggles just missing out on their _additional properties?_ ” Baekhyun grins in the worst way possible, and Jongdae really hopes that no one is walking outside and hearing this.

“Can we please turn this conversation another direction? This enough will haunt me later when I’m stuck guarding the solitary confinement cell, you know. I’ll be standing there in silence, because there is literally nothing to do, and I’m going to hear your voice echoing in my head about the squid market. Please don’t do this to me.”

“Look, I was just doing my job tracking illegal trade, specifically of magical squid parts, and I learned about the world in the process. I’m spreading knowledge. You should be thankful.” Baekhyun takes another loud sip. “But yeah, solitary confinement. Don’t let him seduce you and escape.”

Jongdae sighs. “I’m not you, Baekhyun. I’m not going to _give him my wand_ just because he’s hot. I can do my job without getting distracted.”

“I can get distracted in the right ways and still do my job,” Baekhyun insists. “Also, you just said he was hot.” 

“What-- shut up, that was completely hypothetical.” And Kim Jongin being objectively attractive means nothing. “Anyways, I’m going to be bored out of my mind. Yes this case is dangerous, but tell me, what is the point of me standing guard when a wandless suspect is in solitary confinement in wards that weaken the magic around him? And also behind physical bars?”

Baekhyun sips from his mug again. Jongdae would take coffee away from him, but Baekhyun’s whining is somehow louder and more annoying than his usual talking. “It’s probably for a psychological thing? There’s another person in the area with him, so he doesn’t go mad on his own and then can still respond to interrogation properly. A modern excuse for an old habit. Also you have bad luck in assignments.”

“Do you only talk to me like this?”

“No. I keep it real for everyone. Anyways, you should talk to him if you don’t wanna be bored. Maybe you can find something out.”

“I’m not part of the interrogation team. Wouldn’t a guard asking him questions make him clam up even more?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “You could ask more discreet questions. What was his childhood like, how often does he see his family, how many centimeters is his--”

“He’s a _suspect_ , what the _fuck_ , and I refuse to let you make wand innuendos right now.” Jongdae picks up his mug of tea. “I’m never talking to you again. It was not nice knowing you, Byun.”

“No, I’m serious. There has to be a reason behind psychological torture like that. Clues don’t just pop out. Maybe you can find them somewhere else.”

Occasionally, Baekhyun is right. Jongdae won’t tell him that right now, though. He just flips Baekhyun off before walking back to his cubicle.

 

*

 

Jongdae slams the door behind him as he walks in, partially to release some of his excess energy and partially to assert some impression of dominance. The first thing that Jongdae notices about imprisoned suspect Kim Jongin is that he jumps after the door slams. It’s a strange image, the suspect of the biggest current case who has supposedly committed a multitude of Dark acts being visibly startled by a harmless noise. Even stranger is the lingering trace of fright in his eyes as he looks at Jongdae, his shoulders hunched in half of a protective shell around himself. 

“I’m not here for questioning,” Jongdae supplies. _Yeah, because I’m only got a few months of experience as an Auror and no other connections, so don’t worry, there’s no way anyone would give me enough power to do anything to you even if I wanted to._ The tension in Kim Jongin’s shoulders seems to relax somewhat, but he stays in a sitting fetal position, magically cuffed arms wrapped around magically cuffed legs. Honestly, the bars seem a bit overkill.

Jongdae looks around the room - cell - again. Solitary confinement isn’t too common, and the dirt has only built up on the walls. He’d like to clean it a bit, but it’s not something he can just do to make his shift more bearable. There’s probably some code in a dusty manual somewhere that says keeping cells relatively dirty is part of the intimidation and punishment that confined wizards receive. 

As if responding to his thoughts about dust, Jongdae’s throat tickles uncomfortably, and he pulls out his flask to take some of his caffeine potion. He’s not going to let himself fall asleep during his shift, especially on the first night.

Jongdae feels Kim Jongin’s eyes on him, relentlessly, and he feels uneasy. Who wouldn’t feel nervous if a Dark criminal kept staring at them, especially when that criminal was known to hijack people’s thoughts beyond a normal route of repair?

Criminal. Jongdae shouldn’t be so quick to use that word when investigation is nowhere near complete. He has to also remember that sympathy is potentially dangerous. There isn’t one way to look evil, and some of the most dangerous wizards are those who don’t seem Dark at all. 

“Do you--” Jongdae almost jumps at the sudden talking-- “I mean-- can I have some water?” 

That wasn’t what Jongdae was expecting to hear, although he hadn’t been expecting much of anything. Such an innocent question in a timid voice. Of course it’s tiring to be shackled by chains that block innate magical energy, but Kim Jongin doesn’t just look sleepy. He looks defeated.

“This isn’t water,” Jongdae says, gesturing to his flask. “I can’t give you this.” Instead, he conjures a cup and fills it with the slightly acrid-tasting Aguamenti water, then with a flick of his wand sends it through the bars. 

Kim Jongin downs the glass in a matter of seconds, barely avoiding spilling some on himself. Jongdae watches cautiously, but there’s no sign of the suspect suddenly regaining enough strength to attempt an attack or escape. If anything, he looks more tired as he leans back into the wall. 

Jongdae waits, but Kim Jongin doesn’t fall asleep. He just stares at the wall, eyes sometimes flicking back to Jongdae. Tick, tock, and a flicker. Jongdae almost wishes that dirt grew on the wall instead of piling up. At least he’d have something to watch. Kim Jongin doesn’t count. 

Jongdae’s bored. Kim Jongin is probably bored. Clues don’t pop out of nowhere.

“You know, I was at Hogwarts at the same time as you.”

Kim Jongin tilts his head so he looks out of the corner of his eye upwards at Jongdae, who’s leaning against one of the walls. “Not Slytherin, then.”

“Ravenclaw,” Jongdae supplies. “A year above you.”

There is no derisive scoff or eye rolling from Kim Jongin. He just gives a simple nod and lowers his head on his arms again without any sign of mocking. Not what Jongdae expected from an imprisoned Slytherin. 

“What did the Hat say to you when you got Sorted?” 

Kim Jongin looks back up. Jongdae’s not sure why he’s still talking either.

“I was almost in Hufflepuff. The Hat said I was good at taking care of people. Loyal. But I kept wondering about how the Hat was thinking and choosing for us, and I ended up in Ravenclaw.”

Jongdae knows the Sorting Hat doesn’t always say something besides the house name. Maybe Kim Jongin became a Slytherin after two seconds. Maybe he doesn’t want to say. Prisoners don’t generally chat with their guards. 

“‘So you want to be great.’” 

Jongdae looks up this time. 

“‘Then you’d better be Slytherin.’” Kim Jongin’s voice almost sounds regretful. Everyone needs sleep, Jongdae thinks.

He hears the telltale footsteps that indicate the next person on shift is arriving. He stands up and walks towards the door, but before he’s all the way there, he looks back. Kim Jongin’s head rests on his shoulder, his neck awkwardly bent, and he’s staring at Jongdae again. It’s not the stare of a serial criminal. Something compels Jongdae to re-Aguamenti the water glass.

 

*

 

It’s not entirely uncommon to go back to Hogwarts and interview professors about suspects, especially for cases like this where the motivation for the crime might have deeper roots. Professors see a lot more things than students realize, and they can remember them for years. And so Jongdae climbs out of the fireplace in the Slytherin Head of House’s office, hoping he didn’t swallow any remains of Floo powder.

“Hope you’re doing well, Professor Kang.” 

“It’s a pleasure, Auror Kim.” Professor Kang nods curtly and gestures to the antique chairs in front of them. They sit, and Jongdae retrieves the Quick Quotes Quill out of the pockets of his robes. The charm has been improved since Rita Skeeter’s infamous days.

Professor Kang uses enough anti-aging potions that Jongdae can’t tell how old she is, but she’s taught astronomy and been head of Slytherin for almost two decades. Smooth skin, smooth black hair, smooth voice. It’s not the first time Jongdae’s wondered if there’s some sort of compulsory Slytherin training to hide emotion or only express it through displeasure or anger - but that’s probably more of a pureblood family thing. 

“Yes, I remember Kim Jongin, but I never knew him deeply. He was always quiet, either by himself or with the same few friends. Lee Taemin, Kim Moongyu, Kim Wonshik. Thick as thieves, they were, especially Kim Jongin and Lee Taemin.” She lowers her teacup onto its matching saucer without any sound of clinking porcelain. “I think Kim Jongin had more power than he realized. He did well in establishing his foundational magic, particularly Defense, but of course he left before we could see his full growth. Only one time did I see his… potential outside of class. An unfortunate prank gone wrong, it seemed, or perhaps even revenge for another incident. He was mostly silent when I asked him about it.”

“Could you elaborate on that prank, if you remember?” Jongdae asks, glancing at the Quick Quotes notes. So far, so good. 

“It wasn’t very complicated. Another Slytherin student, a year older, had all his hair melt and his scalp was a dangerously high temperature, but he was sent to the hospital wing before anything permanently damaging occurred. Kim Jongin admitted to it immediately and said he had just meant to make the other student bald. A very teenage boy thing to do except it got a bit out of control. That was just before he transferred to Durmstrang.”

Jongdae frowns. The quill scratches away. “Do you think there’s any correlation between those events?” 

“Perhaps. His parents said it was a personal choice to switch schools. He didn’t express any particular desire about it to me even when I asked. As I said, he was mostly quiet except for when he was with his friends.” Professor Kang purses her lips and interlaces her fingers together. 

“Right. If you don’t have anything else to add, Professor, I’ll be on my way. Thank you very much for your time and knowledge.”

She gives Jongdae another curt nod, and Jongdae puts his scroll and quill back into the insides of his robes. A pinch of Floo powder and a few swirling seconds later, and he’s back at the Ministry. He’s mostly used to Floo travel, but sometimes the ash still makes him dizzy. That, or he’s making excuses for why his head hurts. Who is Kim Jongin?

The owls he sent to professors at Durmstrang haven’t been answered yet.

 

*

 

A piece of folded paper flies smack into Jongdae’s forehead for the fourth time, and he swears as loudly as he can without Auror Choi overhearing him. Jongdae would consider murdering Baekhyun a lot more seriously if he wouldn’t have to fill out his own paperwork. If only he could Obliviate Baekhyun to just forget the inter-office flying memo charm.

He sighs and opens the note to see _i know ur leaving my memos on read._ The previous ones say _are u busy?_ , _coffee break?_ and _do u think kim jongin is the hottest suspect uve ever seen?_

 _Please stop wasting office resources (paper and my energy),_ Jongdae scrawls hurriedly on the back of one of Baekhyun’s notes and sends it flying with a wave of his wand. He gets a full two minutes of rest before the reply hits him in the nose.

_maybe if u drank more coffee w me u would have more energy. now answer me. 1. is kim jongin behind bars more or less hot than u thought he would be??!!? 2. did u actually do anything besides stare at the dirt on the wall? 3. do u think hes guilty????_

Jongdae closes his eyes and wonders what he did in his past life to wrong Byun Baekhyun. 

_he was thirsty so I gave him some water. he was scared ? by the sound of the door slamming. doesn’t seem like someone who would torture people, but I don’t really know._ Jongdae very intentionally does not answer question #1. Of course, Baekhyun picks up on it. 

_so u do think hes hot!!!!!!!!!! clear his name so he can take u out to dinner!!!!!!!_

Jongdae didn’t go through three years of Auror training for this.

 

*

 

Another night. Jongdae didn't feel like taking a potion today, so he'd cast a charm that would create the sensation of cold water on his face every time he starting feeling too drowsy. Even if he were sleepy and nodded off for a few seconds, it wouldn’t be the worst scenario. Honestly, with his wand taken away and wards on the room, what could Kim Jongin possibly do?

Whimper in his sleep, apparently. Like a puppy. 

He isn’t asleep when Jongdae first enters the cell, but he looks close to it. Kim Jongin sits with his back against the wall, arms straight and elbows resting on his knees. At the sound of the door closing, he glances up at Jongdae with eyes mostly shadowed from tiredness. Still, there’s a glint of something alive and hypnotizing. Jongdae should be more afraid than he actually feels.

“Could you cast me some water again? Please?”

Jongdae blinks in surprise. Maybe Kim Jongin will always associate him with water now. He conjures a glass and fills it with Aguamenti water before sending it over. Kim Jongin drinks it just as quickly this time but less clumsily. 

“Thank you. For treating me like a person.”

Jongdae stares through the bars into dark eyes. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“Another guard conjured water and poured it all over the floor in front of me.” Kim Jongin says this very matter-of-factly. “He said it was the least I deserved after what I did to the victims. Interrogation keeps asking me why I won’t confess. You’re the only one who hasn’t said anything like that.” He pauses, leaning forward. There’s still a good deal of distance between them. “Do you think I’m guilty too?”

Jongdae’s breath catches in his throat. “I don’t know.” It’s true.

“I didn’t do it. I don’t know why everyone thinks I did. Yeah, my Apparitions are kind of unusual, but even I don’t know why that happens! It’s just smoke. Smoke isn’t rare. But I’m suspicious?” Kim Jongin’s voice rings with desperation. “Because I was a Slytherin, and the other victims were Slytherins and all Slytherins are evil? I didn’t do anything bad at Durmstrang either. It’s changed since the war.” He slumps back against the wall, apparently drained by his own outburst.

“I don’t know much about Durmstrang, but people don’t change that easily,” Jongdae says quietly. “A lot of people still have the same prejudices. They still assume the worst when it comes to Slytherin, Durmstrang, anything with ties to Dark magic. Or used to have ties with,” he adds quickly. 

“It’s just… if they actually paid attention, they’d know. Things change. People have to too.”

Jongdae didn’t expect to have any sort of discussion on human nature here in the solitary confinement cell. This whole situation is not something he had expected.

“You at least knew of those other Slytherins, the victims, correct?” Jongdae tries not to sound too authoritative, not like a real interrogator. “And it wasn’t you, but you don’t know who attacked them?”

Kim Jongin looks up, down, back up into Jongdae’s eyes. For a long moment, he doesn’t blink, and somehow it makes him look even more terrified. “I don’t know,” he replies. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper. 

He doesn’t say anything after that. Neither does Jongdae. 

Fifteen minutes or an hour later, Jongdae’s not really sure, and Kim Jongin has fallen asleep slumped against the floor. His sleeping face is more relaxed, but the lines of tiredness traced into his face don’t completely disappear. Jongdae has a strange temptation to walk over and reach out to smooth out the shadows of exhaustion with his thumb. He does nothing. 

Jongdae hears it the first time; going through training means you have to be sensitive to changes in noise and movement, or you have to learn to how to notice. It’s a soft noise, almost like an exhale but with the slightest bit of noise. Kim Jongin is just in discomfort from the hard floor and is about to roll over in his sleep, maybe. But no, his eyes are squeezed shut more tightly than before, and his arms rise to shield his head as his whole body curls in on itself. Another whimper escapes like a soft sob without tears. Over a few minutes, the whines happen closer together and a little louder each time. Jongdae is almost about to wake him up out of pity, but then Kim Jongin shivers with a soft sigh and his body relaxes in a break between dreams, whimpering gone. If he hadn’t just sounded like he was in pain moments before, now he could almost look… cute. 

Kim Jongin stays asleep for the rest of Jongdae’s shift. Jongdae does nothing but watch him. By the time his shift ends, he’s unable to deny to himself how much Kim Jongin has affected him. Frightened eyes and frightened words, even in his dreams.

People are kinder-looking when they’re asleep. Jongdae tries to remember that, but his doubts are growing. 

 

*

 

The problem with overnight shifts is that Jongdae only sleeps a few hours after dawn before he has to return to the office. It hasn’t been going on for a long time, so Jongdae hasn’t totally poisoned his system with coffee yet. Still, it takes him a second to process the eagle Patronus that’s swooped onto his desk as something real and not a weird figment of his imagination. Really, a flying memo would be a lot less flashy and disruptive.

“I’m sure you’ve read your change of assignment notice,” Deputy Auror Zhang’s voice rings out of the eagle’s beak, magically contained to Jongdae’s cubicle. Jongdae glances at the slip that he had barely had time to look over first. Paperwork. “We can’t keep Kim Jongin in confinement when we haven’t found more hard evidence that he is the culprit. He’ll be released, but under Auror supervision at all times due to the nature of this case and since he’s still the primary suspect. His wand will also be kept for the time being.” So, confinement still, but outside the walls of a single underground cell. “You and Auror Jung will alternate shifts, and you will take the first one. Monitor Kim Jongin - how he lives, what he does, who he tries to meet up with.” 

“Understood.” The eagle nods at Jongdae’s reply and takes off, silver mist fading behind more flying memos. 

Jongdae goes down to the solitary confinement cell and finds Kim Jongin awake. Kim Jongin seems surprised to see him before nightfall, eyes wide in another silent question, but Jongdae just gestures for him to stand up. 

“Are you--” Kim Jongin bites his lower lip nervously. “Where are you taking me?” 

“Your place. You won’t be kept in a cell anymore, but you’ll still have constant Auror supervision.” Jongdae pats his own chest. “I’m first shift.”

“Home,” Kim Jongin mutters as he slowly stands up, one leg almost buckling in the process. Jongdae walks behind him to steer him outside with one hand gripping the taller man’s (very firm) shoulder. Even with magical cuffs, he’s not supposed to let a suspect walk totally free. 

They take the phone booth route out of the building. Even though the Apparition point is only two blocks away, it’s better to avoid more curious eyes. As the phone booth rises from underground to street level, Jongdae tries not to make unnecessary contact with Kim Jongin, but Kim Jongin is so tall and big in such a small space. A few long seconds and then their feet step on the sidewalk. Jongdae closes his eyes as he inhales, links an arm through Kim Jongin’s, and recalls the address to Kim Jongin’s apartment. 

Even when Kim Jongin is Side-Alonged and in magical cuffs, the puff of smoke still forms as they disappear. The faint smell of it makes the few seconds of high pressure travel stifling, and Jongdae struggles not to gasp for air when they land at the doorstep. The department has already readjusted the wards so that the specified Aurors can enter and Kim Jongin can’t stop them. After a soft glow of gold light confirming the wards have recognized Jongdae, he opens the door and walks in, pulling Kim Jongin with him. 

Kim Jongin’s apartment is relatively bare. White walls, an old-looking navy sofa, a small bookshelf with some novels and a few pictures in frames. A few metal boxes, one that Jongdae thinks is a Muggle television, and some other colorful plastic things against the wall across from the sofa. Two empty bowls on the floor by the kitchen, probably once for feeding a dog that isn’t present now. There isn’t much to look at, but maybe that’s why Jongdae keeps looking: to see if he can find anything else. The department’s already searched here, but nothing came up. Still, Jongdae wants to see for himself.

He’s interrupted by a tugging on his arm and realizes it’s still linked with Kim Jongin’s arm from the Side-Along. Jongdae untangles them, and he undoes the magical cuffs on Kim Jongin’s wrists. Jongdae’s not going to deliver glasses of water to a handcuffed confined suspect, and he’s not undoing and redoing the cuffs every time Kim Jongin has to use the toilet. Besides, Jongdae can defend himself even if a wandless Kim Jongin attacks him. 

Kim Jongin looks at his free wrists, then looks back up at Jongdae. “I don’t have to wear them anymore?”

“You want to be able to use your hands, right?” Jongdae tucks the cuffs inside his robes pockets. “Besides, what are you going to do to me without a wand? Bite me?”

Kim Jongin huffs, almost pouting, and Jongdae doesn’t let himself think _cute_. Jongdae doesn’t quite catch his words, but they sound like “wouldn’t do anything to you anyways.” 

Now a prisoner of his home instead of a cell, Kim Jongin walks over to the sofa and collapses on it, letting out a sigh of relief as he stretches his arms. Jongdae stays standing and looks closer at the pictures. A family picture from years ago when Kim Jongin was much younger; a picture of Kim Jongin holding a child less than two years old; a picture of Kim Jongin kissing a poodle. 

“Where’s the dog?” Jongdae asks, thinking about the empty bowls in the kitchen.

Kim Jongin jumps at Jongdae’s voice breaking the silence. He peeks over the sofa at Jongdae looking at the pictures and processes the words. “Oh. Monggu. Monggu’s at my parents’ house now. Since staying here would be more difficult.”

There’s an unnecessary flicker of relief in Jongdae’s chest, for the dog - Monggu - not being dead, something he didn’t consider quickly enough before asking the question. 

“Who’s the baby?” Jongdae continues, pointing at the second picture.

“That’s my niece,” Kim Jongin says, a small smile forming on his face. “My older sister’s daughter. She’s only two, but she’s really strong already! She grips my fingers really hard, like she wants to thumb wrestle. Isn’t she cute?”

Jongdae looks at the other man’s face. It’s harder and harder to believe that someone this excited about a baby could psychologically torture multiple people. “Yeah, she’s cute.”

Inside the bookshelf, under the pictures, the books there fade into each other. Spines of different shades of blue and white and black, mostly names and titles that Jongdae doesn’t recognize. He picks one up and reads the description on the back; it’s a story about a man traveling around the world to find himself, and Jongdae realizes it’s set in a nonwizarding world. Curious, he sits against the wall and opens the book to the beginning page.

Two hours later, Jongdae has read almost half of the book and looks up to give his eyes a break. Outside the window, the orange glow of the setting sun signals that daylight is almost gone. He hears a soft snuffling sound that confirms that Kim Jongin is still asleep on the sofa, and Jongdae thinks of the relocated poodle Monggu.

His stomach twists uncomfortably, and Jongdae realizes he hasn’t eaten all day. He walks to the kitchen and opens the cupboards in search of anything edible. Like the rest of the apartment, the shelves are mostly bare: a few sets of white plates, bowls, mugs, and finally, a few packets of instant noodles. He’s set.

It feels strange to cook in someone else’s kitchen on the first visit to their place, especially when that someone else is asleep a few feet away, but instant noodles aren’t irreplaceable. Jongdae adjusts the heat on the stove with a tap of his wand before adding the noodles to the boiling water. The steam rises in his face, and a sense of nostalgia hits him once he realizes he can’t remember exactly when he last made instant noodles. How uncharacteristic of him. 

“You’re cooking?” Kim Jongin pokes his head above the back of the sofa, hair sticking up and eyes still squinting from sleep. Jongdae looks back at his noodles, which should be done by now.

“Uh, just instant noodles. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“No, it’s fine. But I was just going to order takeout.”

“What?” Jongdae looks up from opening the seasoning packet.

Kim Jongin stands up and cracks his neck before he walks over to the kitchen counter. There’s a Muggle telephone - Jongdae knows what it is and how to use it, but it’s not something he usually sees in wizarding houses. Kim Jongin picks up the phone and starts dialing. 

 

“Hello, I’d like to order one plate of fried rice, two plates of sweet and sour pork, and-- do you want anything?”

Jongdae stares for a few seconds, mildly perplexed, and then realizes Kim Jongin is waiting for him. “What?”

“Chinese food.” Kim Jongin shrugs like it’s obvious.

“Uh. Black bean noodles?”

“Okay, and one plate of black bean noodles. I’ll stand at the corner of 5th and Whitney to pick it up. Thank you.” He presses another button on the phone to hang up. 

Jongdae has many questions. “That’s a Muggle telephone. And that looks like a television over there. Why do you have Muggle technology, and how is it even working in here?”

Kim Jongin scratches the back of his neck as he looks down at the ground. As if he’s nervous or embarrassed. “My dad’s nonmagical. It was too much for him to live in a house without Muggle technology, so my mom figured out how to engineer certain things so that they can work normally without the magic interfering with them. I grew up with a phone and a TV too, so when I moved out I just adjusted that for my own place. It’s handy to have a phone sometimes, like now.” Jongdae doesn’t respond immediately, and Kim Jongin stares back at him. “What? Do you think it’s weird that a Slytherin is a half-blood?” His voice rises with the last question.

“No, that’s not it,” Jongdae assures him. “There’s barely even any real purebloods left, and even their definition is… whatever. It’s just really interesting that you could engineer Muggle technology without it going haywire in the presence of magic. I didn’t know that it was possible or that people actually used it regularly.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Kim Jongin’s shoulders fall slightly, as if he’s releasing tension he hadn’t meant to build up. “I guess it’s not that common.” 

“I’m sure there’d be other people interested in it. At the least, the magical theory of it is fascinating. I’m really impressed.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” Kim Jongin seems to be slightly embarrassed, and his cheeks redden as he runs a hand through his already messy hair. He doesn’t look like he’s used to this much eye contact. 

Jongdae looks down at his instant noodles. They’re probably soggy by now; he forgot to cast a charm to keep the noodles firm. It’s still edible - Jongdae’s not that bad of a cook - and he hunches over the counter as he eats. After he finishes and sets a charm to rinse out the pot and wash the chopsticks, it occurs to him how weirdly peaceful this is: doing an individual set of dishes in this clean little kitchen that’s not even his, and yet he feels more at home than he has in… a while. Out of place, but something feels right.

“...Auror Kim?”

Jongdae turns around to see Kim Jongin leaning out of his bedroom doorway. “I think the food delivery will be outside soon… do you have to go outside with me to get it, or do I just have to... tell you...”

“Ah. Right. I think I’d better go with you.” Jongdae has never seen exactly how Muggle food delivery works. 

It’s weird again, Jongdae exiting afterwards even though he’s technically the guest. He’s guarding Kim Jongin so normal manners aren’t supposed to matter, but he can’t help himself. The street corner is a block away, and Jongdae feels all of his footsteps echo even though he always walks with a light foot. After they wait for a few minutes, a motorcycle comes and stops at the corner. The driver pulls a tightly packed bag out of the container behind the backseat that reads “Garden Palace,” and Kim Jongin hands over a few bills of Muggle currency. Things that Jongdae has been trained to recognize if he has to go investigate in a Muggle area or pretend to be one otherwise; things that are vaguely familiar but not comfortable.

Kim Jongin lays the food out on a small table he pulls out from the kitchen, and they sit on the floor to eat. Jongdae says “I’ll eat well” before he digs his chopsticks into his black bean noodles. They mostly eat in silence, excluding when Jongdae says “thanks” in surprise after Kim Jongin puts a piece of sweet and sour pork on his noodles.

It’s too normal, Jongdae thinks, apart from the fact that Kim Jongin is supposed to be a sadistic Dark wizard. He isn’t remembering that as much as he’s supposed to.

 

*

 

“So you’re telling me you’re basically living with him?” Baekhyun’s voice is too loud considering that they’re sitting in a public coffee shop. Jongdae’s positive the next table can hear everything. Choking him doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now.

“That’s definitely not what I said, and you know it.”

“You’re guarding him all the time, and he can’t really leave his house so you’re basically living in his house for the better part of the day. Talk about weird hours, this is the first time we’re having coffee break in like, a week.” 

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “Baekhyun, it’s been three days.” 

“Glad to know you’re counting,” Baekhyun simpers, cupping his cheeks with his hands. “Anyways. He bought you Chinese takeout. From a Muggle restaurant. He bought you dinner and you ate together at his flat. Tell me more.”

“That’s it. Except yesterday we ordered Thai. You know Muggles sometimes deliver food on motorcycles?”

“Wait wait wait. ‘We?’ Ordered Thai? And you’re telling me you two are not a thing?” 

Jongdae sighs. “Yeah, it’s ‘we’ because there were two of us and we made one order for convenience’s sake, like normal people. He just offered for me to order something since I’m... there…? It’s rude to just order food and eat it in front of someone’s face if they don’t have anything?”

“I would order food for myself and eat it in front of someone else,” Baekhyun says. Jongdae expected that. “Anyways. Anyways. You had to have done other stuff, sitting in his apartment all day. Tough job, spending your working hours alone with a hot maybe-criminal.” 

“He just… sleeps a lot. Or reads comics. He has some interesting novels that I’ve been reading.”

“You’re such a nerd. Please tell me you’ve had more than like, three conversations and awkward eye contact.” Jongdae sips his coffee, and Baekhyun shakes his head. “Stop being so worried about being ‘professional’ and just have a goddamn conversation. You can do better than that, you know how to talk to people. You’re not Kyungsoo.”

At least Jongdae laughs at that. 

 

*

 

Jongdae does not expect to hear Kim Jongin screaming, and he especially doesn’t expect the reason why.

The disruption is almost welcome; it reminds Jongdae that this is supposed to be supervision, not housesitting. He’s almost done with another one of the Muggle novels on the bookshelf, page 327 out of 364, when a loud yelp followed by a thumping noise sounds from Kim Jongin’s bedroom. Jongdae’s ready on his feet in an instant - this is what he’s been waiting for, what he’s supposed to do as a guard. He kicks the door open to find Kim Jongin crouched on his bed in the corner, peering over the blanket pulled over his knees at… nothing. The lamp on his bedside table lies on the ground.

“What - was that you?” Jongdae asks, wand still drawn, eyes darting around the room. There are wards protecting this place. No one should be in here.

“There’s…” Kim Jongin points a shaking finger at somewhere near Jongdae’s feet.

Jongdae looks down at the floor, expecting something horrifying to spring out at him, but there’s nothing. Wait.

“Are you telling me you screamed because of a bug?” 

“It has so many legs,” Kim Jongin wails. He even kicks his feet. Jongdae cannot believe this is happening. “Can you take it outside?”

Jongdae already has his wand aimed at the bug wiggling its way around. “I was just going to kill it.”

“It didn’t do anything wrong… I just don’t want to look at it or have it touch me,” Kim Jongin insists. He hasn’t moved from his curled-up position, fingers tightly gripping the edge of the blanket.

“Okay.” Jongdae levitates the bug and walks out of the bedroom, past the sofa and kitchen, to the door where he flicks the bug outside to freedom. He makes sure he closes the door properly with the wards intact. This can’t be a trap.

“It’s safe,” Jongdae calls out. “The bug is gone.” He walks to the bedroom doorway to look in. Kim Jongin stares back at him, eyes wide.

“Oh. Um, thank you.” His eyes dart to the lamp that must have fallen to the ground earlier. Jongdae briefly imagines Kim Jongin scrambling on his bed to avoid a bug and knocking it over somehow. A flick of his wand and the lamp flies back up to the bedside table, apparently intact.

“Are you okay?” Jongdae has to stop smiling in order to talk, and then he belatedly realizes that he was smiling for some reason. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Kim Jongin throws the blanket aside and scoots to the edge of his bed. Jongdae turns to walk back to the living room, but a gasp of pain makes him turn back around. It’s not a loud sound, but Jongdae notices things like that.

Kim Jongin is standing, but his weight is unevenly balanced. Jongdae looks down at the other man’s feet and notices the red mark on one foot. The area of contact with the lamp.

“Don’t move,” Jongdae says. He walks up to Kim Jongin and crouches down so he can see better. It isn’t much of a wound: there’s no bleeding and the skin is just red, but it looks like it could swell. Jongdae touches the spot with his wand and mutters an anti-inflammatory spell.

“There.” Jongdae stands up, and only just in time does he step back enough so that they don’t knock heads. 

“You didn’t have to.” Kim Jongin’s face is still too close to his and far too handsome. Jongdae takes a step back.

“You… hurt yourself, and you don’t have a wand right now, so I just did it instead. It’s nothing.” He’s overexplaining again. And is Kim Jongin staring at him?

“Thank you anyways.” Kim Jongin lets out a small smile, and Jongdae ignores the warmth in his chest. “And this is kind of random, but Auror Kim, do you know about video games?”

 

*

 

Jongdae did not know about video games before, but he does now. Kim Jongin is not really the best teacher: he explains a lot at once and forgets rules or functions Jongdae wouldn’t know about until they show up in the game. Jongdae can figure out the joystick and the A button for gas easily enough, but he learns about throwing bananas in Mariokart the hard way. Kim Jongin laughs every time Jongdae throws a banana or red shell in front of his kart and then accidentally drives into it. It’s a good kind of frustrating that makes Jongdae laugh too.

(and Jongdae wonders if part of learning video games is supposed to be about feeling like he’s remembering a childhood he never had, somehow ten years old again and making friends over a few minutes of laughter and simple games, that fluttering sensation of summer all year round.)

“You have, oh I don’t know, like 20 years of experience on me,” Jongdae points out when Jongin wins another round. “I learn fast. Just wait.”

“Show me, then.” Jongin is so relaxed like this, leaning against the sofa with his legs stretched out in front of him and another one of those smiles on his face. “It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve played with someone else. Not since... Taemin and Moongyu last came over.” His smile fades, and at the same time Jongdae remembers.

“Are they your good friends?” He doesn’t know that Jongdae knows already.

“Yeah. But they’ve been busy lately, I guess.”

“Too busy to meet up?” Not too pushy. Careful, Jongdae thinks.

“Well, Moongyu’s busy with work somewhere in Spain right now. Taemin… Taemin’s been traveling a lot recently. For months, maybe. Online multiplayer mode is still fun too.” 

Jongdae doesn’t know what that is and doesn’t need to know right now. He still has to remember the difference between red and green shells. “Have you been friends since school? Hogwarts?”

“Yeah.” He scrolls through the different worlds, deciding which course to play next. Luigi Circuit, Peach Beach, Luigi Circuit, Peach Beach. 

“Did you play this game back then too? Or something else like it?”

“I only played with my Muggle cousins when I was younger.” Peach Beach, Luigi Circui, Peach Beach, Luigi Circuit. “Everyone wanted to go flying or go eat sweets instead, and Taemin was too busy to--” Jongin accidentally selects Peach Beach and presses ‘back’ when the screen asks if he’s sure. He isn’t.

“What’d you say?” Jongdae asks, but the game music starts and the opening video for DK Mountain plays on the screen. Jongdae groans at the thought of the wobbly bridge again.

He only falls off the bridge once, but Jongin laughs at it anyways. Even after hours of playing and improvement, Jongdae still hasn’t won a round, but he’s not that tired of it for some reason. 

The door glows gold, and Auror Jung enters to take over for the next shift. Jongdae rises to greet him.

“Hey, Auror Jung. Can I talk with you for a minute outside?”

Auror Jung narrows his eyes slightly, but he nods. They walk out onto the doorstep and Jongdae shuts the door behind them before casting Muffliato and a Notice-Me-Not charms. There’s usually no one walking by on the street below or hovering around the flats, but there’s no point in risking someone overhearing. Especially Kim Jongin on the other side of the wall. 

“What is it?” Auror Jung asks. Jung Taekwoon, tall, dark and broad like a picturesque soldier and surly to most. Jongdae doesn’t know him too well. 

“You were also a guard for Kim Jongin’s solitary confinement?” Jongdae knows the answer but asks it anyways as a starter.

“Yes, as were you.”

“Which is why I want to ask: from what you’ve seen, what kind of person is Kim Jongin?”

Auror Jung narrows his eyes again. His long hair, almost reaching his eyes, makes it harder to read his expression. “He’s quiet. Doesn’t ask for much, doesn’t try to get anything out of me. Fidgety, sometimes, like with his feet. He doesn’t really do much in front of me, but sometimes it feels like he’s hiding something. Is that what you’re looking for?”

Jongdae frowns. It’s pretty consistent at least, but the Kim Jongin he’s seen is more than that. Quiet sometimes, but asks for water, snacks, things he’s curious about. Loud when talking about people he loves and winning in video games. He apparently hasn’t gone so far to teach Auror Jung how to play Muggle video games. 

“What do you mean by it feels like he’s hiding something?”

Auror Jung purses his lips. “It’s a gut feeling. You look at him, and there’s something mysterious. Especially when he looks you in the eyes. There’s some sort of power behind them. I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.”

“Have you ever… seen him do something violent? Anything, even like crushing a bug or swearing once?”

Auror Jung thinks to himself for a moment. “I don’t think so. Any more questions, Auror Kim?”

“No, that’s all. Thanks for answering me.” Jongdae pats him on the shoulder. “Work hard.”

Auror Jung stares at him for a second, then turns back to start opening the wards to reenter the flat. “Good luck with whatever you’re doing, Auror Kim. If you’re doing anything.” 

 

*

 

Coffee break time. Jongdae is especially glad that Baekhyun’s out for the day. He actually has something he wants to do in these few minutes, and all he has to do is swivel around in his chair.

“Auror Choi, do you have time to talk for a bit? It’s about the torture case.”

Minho leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head with a loud cracking noise. “As luck would have it, I do have a spare minute. What’s up?” 

Jongdae takes a deep breath. “What if I don’t think he’s the culprit? Kim Jongin, I mean.”

Minho rests his jaw on his hand in thought, looking like the picture of handsome intelligence. “It’s good that you’re thinking about it yourself and not just assuming what superiors say is right. But you also have to remember that the people on this case have been Aurors for a long time. They’ve seen things. Their sense of instinct is more practiced than yours. Don’t discount that.”

“It… it just doesn’t make any sense. Torturing people and inflicting damage to that extent requires a lot of hate and power. I’ve seen how Kim Jongin acts and reacts to things, and based on the interviews I held, it doesn’t seem like he’s the kind of person capable of that stuff. At the very least, there isn’t enough conclusive evidence to prove it’s him.”

Minho sighs. Maybe they’ll go out for drinks later, if he’s not working late. “You’ll see that that’s not always the biggest problem. When there are recovering victims like in this case, one of them could… recover and remember something new, if you know what I mean. That can be hard to fight, especially in your position. It could end up hurting you.” 

Jongdae knows about Auror politics, power struggles, fabrication of evidence when it’s more convenient for the department to cover up a case. He hates it. “But if the attacks continue, everyone will know they didn’t catch the right person.”

“Yes.” Minho sighs again. Jongdae knows his supervisor is tired lately. Everyone on a months-long case that’s finally at its tail end would be. “Not everyone has time and energy to spare. If someone does… it’s at their own risk to continue investigating without support. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a doomed option.” 

Jongdae catches the wink Minho makes. 

 

*

 

It’s difficult to keep his thoughts from buzzing around. There’s no way -- if Durmstrang, Lee Taemin, Kim Moongyu, Kim Wonshik, if anyone else could return his owls. If the victims could say anything revealing. Sometimes he can put the thoughts to rest temporarily, but they’re ruining his moment now. Takeaway dinner on the navy sofa again with the last bits of daylight streaming through the window should be enjoyable, but Jongdae can’t stop thinking. He should have ordered something spicier.

“Auror Jung doesn’t like Indian food,” Jongin suddenly says. “Or Thai. He says it’s too greasy for his stomach.”

Jongdae looks up from his butter chicken. Jongin is staring at him again. It’s like Jongdae can suddenly sense every air particle buzzing around and weighing down on him, like every cell in his body is on alert. Good thing he doesn’t actually blush. 

“What?”

“This isn’t something all Aurors do, is it?” Jongin’s eyes are round with curiosity, filled with the rest of the question. Jongdae doesn’t have to hear it out loud to know what he means. 

“Not often.” _Pretty sure most Aurors do not become guards of wrongly accused suspects, single-handedly try to find the real perpetrator, and sort of fall for the suspect they’re guarding all in the same case._

“Well. I’m glad you’re my assigned Auror. I don’t know how many wizards would be so willing to learn Mariokart.” Jongin’s gaze hasn’t faltered, but his smile now changes it. Maybe it’s something about sparkling crescent eyes that makes ‘my assigned Auror’ somehow translate to ‘mine’ in Jongdae’s head. Connection error. 

“Yeah,” Jongdae finally coughs out. “I’d say I like Mariokart more than risking my life all the time.”

Jongin grins, his eyes twinkling. “Who says Mariokart isn’t a life-threatening battle?”

Jongdae grins back and easily catches the controller Jongin tosses at him. “Is that a challenge?” 

Incredibly, Jongdae wins a round against Jongin, and he’s still in a good mood when he gets home from his shift.

An owl from Kim Moongyu waits at his window. 

 

* 

 

They meet at a Muggle cafe where no one will think them out of the ordinary. Luckily, Kim Moongyu’s Muggle dress is impeccable, grey and black, and the Muffliato charm goes up without anyone noticing. Jongdae takes minimal notes by hand to be safe.

“You want to talk about Jongin when he was at Hogwarts?” Kim Moongyu picks at the slice of cake he ordered with his fork. 

“Yes. What did you do as friends? You and Jongin, or your bigger friend group.”

Kim Moongyu scrapes the frosting off before he takes a bite. Jongdae looks for a crack in his composure. “Hmm. Just normal things. Gobstones. Exploding Snap. Going down to the lake.” He hums again. “We almost snuck into the forest once, but Jongin was too scared to go in.”

“Did you ever get into trouble?” 

He laughs. “I was smart enough not to. I didn’t do anything stupid. If we did anything dumb as a group, Jongin and Taemin together were innocent looking enough to make our mistakes look like teenage boys being dumb.” Jongdae narrows his eyes, and Kim Moongyu gets it. “The forest. Taemin just said we were lost, and Taemin was late to enough of his classes already that it was so believable as an excuse.” 

Something didn’t come up. Jongdae frowns. “Wasn’t there something about cursing hair? An older student’s scalp almost catching on fire?”

Kim Moongyu laughs. “Oh, that. Those guys were provoking Jongin. Teasing him about blood purity, dark skin, missing his _‘master.’_ It was kind of surprising even then, because usually those things never bothered him.”

Master. Ringleader. And another piece. “And this was just before Durmstrang? Do you know why Kim Jongin transferred there?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t know that yet?” Kim Moongyu slowly savors another bite of cake. Jongdae’s pastry stays untouched. “Professor Kang shouldn’t have been that oblivious. It was because Jongin missed Taemin after Taemin transferred there first. Jongin didn’t give a shit about learning Dark arts even though half of Taemin’s letters were just talking about weird stuff there.” He sets his fork down. “Ah, right. The kid who Jongin almost burned the scalp off of used to bully Taemin.”

Jongdae stares at the fork on Kim Moongyu’s plate. One thought, and then another. He flips back through his handwritten notes and finds an older page with four names on it. He shows it to Kim Moongyu. 

“Are these names familiar?”

 

Kim Moongyu squints at them, whispering them under his breath, and Jongdae waits. 

“Yes. Slytherin. Two or three years above us, right? Yes. They didn’t like Taemin too much. They found him when we couldn’t be next to him and they did… things.” He lets out a loud exhale. “And then Taemin transferred because he couldn’t take it.”

Jongdae snaps his notebook shut. “And Lee Taemin now?”

“He’s been in and out for a few years. I’m not sure about the last few months.” Kim Moongyu presses his lips together tightly. 

“You don’t know how thankful I am for this,” Jongdae says, standing up and stretching out an arm to shake hands. “This can’t have been easy for you.”

“You’re sure no one can find out.”

“I swear.” They shake hands. Jongdae wonders what it would be like to meet under better circumstances. If he would play Mariokart too. 

The department office will be slower on a Friday night. Jongdae sends an owl to Head Auror Lee’s private home to inquire about tracking Lee Taemin’s whereabouts. Buzzing buzzing thoughts, but he can’t track someone alone, and it’s already time for his next shift of guard duty. 

 

*

 

Somehow it’s hotter now, hours after sunset, than it was when the sun was up. The heat seeps in through the walls despite wards and cooling spells, and Jongdae can feel it sticking to the small of his back. They’ve already drunk all of the Pocari Sweat in Jongin’s apartment, and even the coldest water won’t be refreshing enough. 

“I’m going to the convenience store to get some drinks. And maybe ice cream,” Jongdae tells Jongin. Jongin gives a nod without looking away from his Nintendo. 

“Chocolate,” Jongin responds. As if Jongdae couldn’t have guessed his favorite ice cream flavor. 

The cooling spell Jongdae casts only helps slightly with the heat. If only they were allowed to order delivery service to Jongin’s apartment… but the wards. Luckily, there’s always a convenience store nearby. 

The bell over the door chimes when Jongdae walks in. He wants to stand in front of the refrigerator doors forever, but he picks out barley tea, apple soda, and more Pocari Sweat. And a chocolate ice cream cup. He makes sure that he hands over Muggle money and not sickles and knuts like Baekhyun did that one time. 

Jongdae imagines that the rustling of the plastic bag as he walks back is a real breeze. Whistling makes the walk back feel a little shorter too. Even the wards seem to glow for a bit shorter than normal as Jongdae performs the necessary wand movements. 

“Your ice cream,” Jongdae calls out, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. The slight hiss that escapes when he cracks open the barley tea bottle is refreshing, and he wipes some of the sweat off his forehead.

A hand wipes more sweat off the back of Jongdae’s neck. Sensitive. 

“Thanks.” Jongdae turns at the sound of Jongin’s voice and sees Jongin without a shirt on, already having removed the plastic lid off the ice cream cup and licking it. Jongin looks up and their eyes meet. It could be Jongdae’s imagination, but Jongin seems to be eating the ice cream more slowly now. Is he watching Jongdae?

“Maybe I should have asked for vanilla?” Jongin wonders, smirking when Jongdae’s face warms. 

“Maybe I won’t buy you ice cream next time.” Jongdae’s just feeling woozy from the weather still. It’s just really hot all the time now.

“Hyung, you don’t look so good,” Jongin frowns, cocking his head to the side. “You want some ice cream?”

“I’m really fine,” Jongdae says. _Just distracted by how good you look right now. Probably will always be distracted._

“Doesn’t look like it. Maybe you should take this off.” Jongin’s taking a step towards him and Jongdae isn’t stepping backwards. Jongin’s hands are at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing his stomach lightly before pulling the shirt over Jongdae’s head, and Jongdae isn’t stopping him. If this keeps going -- Jongdae wants it, but it isn’t right, not when they’re still linked by this case on opposite sides even though Jongin is innocent -- 

“Jongin--” Jongdae tries, but opening his mouth just makes him want to kiss Jongin more, and now Jongin’s pushing him on the navy sofa. Jongin’s tying Jongdae’s wrists together with Jongdae’s shirt, and something feels very off now -- Jongdae opens his mouth to say something but then Jongin pulls a wand out of his jeans pocket with a muttered ‘petrificus totalus’ and Jongdae is powerless. 

“I didn’t even need to tie you up, really,” Jongin laughs, twirling the wand between his fingers. That isn’t Jongdae’s wand, that’s not Jongin’s wand either, so what-- “I just thought it’d be more fun when I saw how flustered you got from the beginning. How fun, me teasing this boy who’s somehow replaced me as Jongin’s favorite. It’s only fair, isn’t it?” Jongin -- but not Jongin, obviously not now, and he’d just referred to Jongin -- strokes the side of Jongdae’s face tenderly, and Jongdae’s in a bodybind and can’t even curse him out. “It’ll get more fun now, though.”

Not-Jongin stands up and walks to Jongin’s bedroom. A few seconds later, Not-Jongin emerges pulling who must be the real Jongin with him. Real Jongin looks at Jongdae unable to move on the couch, eyes widened with fear, but he must be silenced too. Not-Jongin sits him down on the floor so that Jongdae sees two Jongins facing each other, Not-Jongin with an elbow resting on a casually raised knee and real Jongin sitting hunched with crisscrossed legs.

“You know who I am already, Jonginnie. Sorry, but I’m not gonna let you talk yet. I just want you to hear me out, okay?” Not-Jongin does that face caressing thing again to real Jongin. “And I want your precious Auror to hear too, so he doesn’t feel so special.

I know you still treasure me, Jongin. How could you not, after all you did for me?” Not-Jongin is crooning already. “Only thirteen and you pranked all those Slytherins who didn’t like me so much even though we were in the same house. So cute, even though you didn’t like it when it wasn’t such a little prank and Andy Kim’s scalp almost caught on fire by itself even though you just meant for him to be bald.” Not-Jongin’s hand running through real Jongin’s hair, in some sort of remembrance. Jongdae wants to throw up. 

“Beautiful perfect Kim Jongin, too good for everyone’s idea of Slytherin, even more interesting when you transferred to Durmstrang. Because I transferred there first and you missed me, your best friend. I’m really grateful, Jongin-ah. But that’s still too perfect, isn’t it?” Not-Jongin sighs. “Everyone thought you transferred to Durmstrang because you really did have a Dark streak. But at Durmstrang… you just learned. You just got better and better without even learning Dark arts. We were the best duellers at Durmstrang, but you didn’t even want to use your skill. You just wanted to take care of the owls at school.

Too perfect, too loved. It wasn’t fair, Jongin-ah, it’s not fair.” Not-Jongin is pleading now, and he sounds less and less like Jongin now. “You always helped me, always were there for me, but I had almost nothing to help you with. I was scared that you’d realize I was too messed up and you’d leave me. So I had to do something so that you couldn’t leave me, Jongin-ah. You can’t leave.” 

He isn’t Jongin at all anymore. He kind of resembles Jongin, but his eyes are different, the slope of his nose is straighter, his face is a little slimmer. 

“Taemin-ah,” Jongin gasps. He’s able to talk now. 

“Mmm, it’s me, Taemin. Stupid little Lee Taemin who was too slow in school and looked too much like a girl, was hexed for having long hair. But I’m better now. I’m stronger. You know what I did to them.” Lee Taemin’s whispering now, but Jongdae can still hear. “I had to do it. I still think about it even though it was over ten years ago. I gave them dreams like I had, but worse, because they deserved it. And I made them think it was you, kind of.” 

Lee Taemin takes Jongin’s hands in his, and Jongdae can’t tell if Jongin is actually unable to resist or if he’s just drawn in. Jongdae can feel Lee Taemin’s magic around him, almost throbbing with its power. 

“You’re too perfect, Jongin-ah. If... if something’s wrong… I can understand you. Your problems. I always could. We’ll be more equal then. Only you know me, and only I know you. We can run away from everyone else who doesn’t understand. We’re powerful, both of us. They can’t find us.”

“Taemin-ah…” Jongin’s hands are limp in Taemin’s grip, and his voice is thick. Jongdae can’t see his tears too well, but they’re there. “How… how could you have…”

Taemin tugs Jongin closer to him. “I was going to have them sentence you guilty and then get you right before you were locked up for good. Exciting, you know, to be an official bad boy on the loose. But your little friend here,” he jerks his head at Jongdae, “finally guessed it was me. He almost ruined everything, so I had to come here instead. But Jongin-ah,” Taemin croons again. “Did you really never guess it was me? I’m sure this guy asked you who you thought it could be, but you didn’t say?”

Jongin looks over at Jongdae, teary eyes filled with an apology before he speaks. “I didn’t want to think it was you. I didn’t want to think that the Lee Taemin I was best friends with was someone who could do that kind of horrible thing.” He looks down at the ground, and Jongdae doesn’t know if it’s Jongin’s disappointment or his own that he feels. “And I didn’t want to be the one putting you in jail. I thought if-- if I didn’t say anything about my suspicions, there wouldn’t be enough evidence, and we’d both be free eventually.”

“Ah, Jongin…” Taemin chuckles, and Jongdae feels even sicker. “You’re still just as naive as before. But it’s okay. You have me.”

“This isn’t right,” Jongin pleads. “I don’t want to live as a fugitive. You shouldn’t either. Turn yourself in, Taemin-ah. Please.”

Taemin laughs at that, and then his face twists into a scowl. “You think I broke through these wards just to have a little talk in front of the Auror I knocked out and then turn myself in? I’m only letting this guy listen in because it’s more fun to rub it in his face. If we don’t leave together right in front of him, I’ll feel unsatisfied. And you don’t have a wand, Jongin-ah. Not like you would fight me anyways. Don’t make me hurt you too.” 

Taemin grabs Jongin’s forearm and hoists him up. Jongin’s movements are floppy, like he doesn’t want to move, but he doesn’t quite struggle either. He stares over his shoulder at Jongdae, eyes wide with shock, as Taemin drags him out the door. It slams shut, and Jongdae can imagine the popping sound as they inevitably Apparate away somewhere. He can’t even see the puff of smoke left behind. 

Jongdae struggles against the binds, but his magic isn’t enough to break them. He’s exhausted, but he can’t even close his eyes. All he can do is wait.

 

*

 

The door bangs open and Jongdae is simultaneously relieved and mortified. Relieved because Minho and Baekhyun are the ones who have entered to save him, and mortified because his supervisor and best friend are witnessing him stupidly caught in a bodybind and tied up in his own shirt.

Minho waves his wand over Jongdae’s body, asking “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you?” as Jongdae is released from the bind and stretches. Jongdae shakes his head no.

“Honestly, I think you should have gotten hurt a little more,” Baekhyun says disapprovingly as he picks up Jongdae’s wand and hands it back to him. “You deserve it for getting caught in a situation like this.”

“Just say you’re glad I’m safe,” Jongdae scoffs. “Why are you even here? I thought you were finishing up squid stuff.”

“He volunteered to come,” Minho offers before Baekhyun can say anything. “He was almost screaming in the office, something about how he was going to kill Lee Taemin but also kill you for getting yourself into this.” 

Jongdae smiles knowingly at Baekhyun, who huffs. Then Jongdae remembers. “Wait -- Lee Taemin? How did you know? I didn’t get to officially report it yet. Do you know where he is?”

“Put your shirt back on,” Baekhyun says. “We’ve gotta head back to the office.”

 

*

 

The office is quieter than Jongdae expects, probably because more people are downstairs making sure Lee Taemin is properly detained and questioned. Even Minho had gone to help. Almost everything is done already.

In the longest stream of words Jongdae has heard from him, Auror Jung recounts the scene that occurred before. Only a few people were still working at their cubicles, but somehow Kim Jongin Apparated right into the middle of the office with an unconscious man’s arm slung around his shoulder and a wand that wasn’t his in his hand. He managed to shout something about his apartment before fainting and falling to the ground. It’d be even stranger if he had stayed standing; he must have used an incredible amount of energy in order to break the wards of the Auror department and Apparate directly in, especially with an unfamiliar wand. 

“So--” Jongdae’s head hurts, half with worry and half with disbelief. “So you’re telling me that after Lee Taemin bodybound me and tried to kidnap Kim Jongin, Kim Jongin somehow defeated him without a wand, took his wand, and Apparated through barriers he shouldn’t have been able to get through?” 

Auror Jung also looks exhausted at the thought. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’m just glad it wasn’t me on shift. You should get to the hospital.” He gives a solemn wave goodbye and walks away, probably to silently scream at paperwork.

“Right,” Baekhyun suddenly adds, turning to face Jongdae. “He’s in St. Mungo’s too. I’m surprised you didn’t ask already.”

Jongdae had guessed as much. Had worried as much, but hadn’t said anything. “Yeah. Yeah. Hospital. Sounds right.”

“God, you are so STUPID,” Baekhyun sighs, and he takes Jongdae by the arm. An Apparition later and the slightly unpleasant smell of sterilizing potion fills Jongdae’s nose. 

Jongin is lying fast asleep in a bed next to a window. Jongdae checks the board on the wall three times to see when a Healer last came by. And another time, just to make sure it hasn’t been too long.

“You know, usually wizards can only control that much wandless magic when they’re feeling powerful, uncontrollable emotions,” Baekhyun says. “If they even have wandless magic in the first place.”

“I know,” Jongdae replies. He doesn’t stop looking at Jongin. Jongin’s closed eyes, the shadows of his eyelashes, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. 

“So that means he was feeling some sort of really strong emotion as he was being taken away,” Baekhyun continues. “Taken away from you, and then he risked magical exhaustion to escape that.”

“I know,” Jongdae echoes again. Jongin’s hand is a bit too cold, a bit too dry under Jongdae’s fingers. Jongin should wake up soon. 

“So that means that this is an extremely powerful wizard whose hand you’re holding, you absolute sap, and there’s no way he doesn’t like you back because he told me to go get you.” 

“Oh,” Jongdae says. “But that sounds like basic decency.”

“Jongdae,” Baekhyun sighs. “I went to go help him after he fainted in the office. He woke up a bit before he was transferred here and he kept whispering your name and his address. That is not just basic decency.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says again. His fingers grip more tightly around Jongin’s hand. Something flickers - a pulse, a wave of magic, who knows - and then Jongin grips his fingers back. 

“You’re awake,” Jongdae says, suddenly feeling dizzy. “Jongin.”

“Have fun if you can,” Baekhyun says, and the fading click of his shoes indicate he’s left.

Jongin blinks sleepily and gives Jongdae one of those infectious small smiles. “Hi.” 

“Are you okay?” It’s such a stupid question, but Jongdae is too used to asking it.

“Yeah. Just sleepy.”

“Liar. Using that much power at once could have killed you,” Jongdae whispers. 

Jongin smiles weakly. “I know. But I had to do it. Taemin is… was my friend. But he’s changed so much, and I can’t let him keep hurting people. Especially not you.” He coughs lightly, cheeks reddening. “I… I felt so bad when the door closed behind me. But I didn’t know if I could harness my magic without a wand, and I didn’t want Taemin to just get away if I failed inside the flat. I had to follow him and try to overtake him outside. Got lucky, I guess.”

“Liar again,” Jongdae says. “That was all your power and your skill. I wish I could have seen it.”

“I want my wand back, though. It’s just easier.”

“Of course. You’re not a suspect anymore. Of course you’ll get your wand back, and the Auror wards will be off of your apartment.” Jongdae thinks smoothing his thumb over the back of Jongin’s hand is more comforting for him than it is for Jongin. Jongin doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And, um,” Jongin blushes again, enough to completely melt Jongdae’s heart. “Auror Byun said something about you wanting to take me out to a real dinner?” 

Jongdae sighs. How Baekhyun had time to do that, he’ll never know. “I didn’t tell him that. But yes. I’ll take you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or anything else. If you want to.”

Jongin squeezes his hand back, soft smile in place, and this is Jongdae’s new favorite kind of yes.


End file.
